


Spiderwebs

by vienn_peridot



Series: Webs 'Verse [2]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: AU: Webs 'Verse, Angst, BABBY'S FIRST FANFIC, I have no idea what I'm doing, Lets torture Prowl and make him evil, Multi, Swearing, There will be deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:54:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2089587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[One-sentence premise:] Lets torture Prowl and make him evil.</p><p>[Crappily Expanded:]<br/>A freak accident brings Soundwave and his two remaining cassettes to the Ark, throwing him into the company of two mechs he has obsessed over from afar and the many he has repeatedly tried to kill throughout the war.<br/>This incredible stroke of luck for the Autobots triggers a series of events that turns both armies inside-out and Optimus discovers exactly what it would take to make one of his most loyal and trusted advisers join the Decepticons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Soundwave

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ['That's a good look for you'](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/66195) by Full-Autopsy. 



> Full_Autopsy on Tumblr drew a glorious picture of a red-opticed Prowl receiving the Decepticon brand. It happened to pop up on my dash while I was listening to No Doubt.
> 
> Thus this monster and it's whole Frankensteinian AU was born. I apologize in advance for clunky grammar. I really suck at editing :/
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Obviously I don't own Transformers. If I did things would be very, very different. I'm just mucking about with my toys in the virtual sandpit.

::Comm Speak::

= _Telepathy_ =

 

# Chapter One: SOUNDWAVE

 

The battle in which Soundwave and his cassettes were captured by the Autobots was indelibly engraved into the Hostmech’s memory files. The main reason being that it was on that day Soundwave’s universe began its inexorable slide towards an unforeseeable event horizon. At the time it simply felt like the ground had dropped out from under his pedes and the world had gone completely mad.

 

The probabilities of the final outcome were so infinitesimally small no Cybertronian still living had the ability to calculate them.

 

Soundwave was utterly convinced that somewhere out in the unreachable depths of space both Primus _and_ Unicron were having a good laugh at him.

                                                   

The battle itself had originally been a multilayered Decepticon operation; only Megatron and Soundwave himself has been aware of all the details behind this fight. The plan was of such complexity that the Decepticons had never tried anything like it before. As a whole the tended to lack the teamwork skills that allowed the Autobots to pull off complicated stratagems with annoying regularity. It was Megatron’s trust in Soundwave and their dire need of certain parts that forced them into the attempt.

 

Soundwave had arranged for one of the Decepticons moderately useful energon acquisition projects to be uncovered. After that, a pitched battle with the Autobots for control of this particular facility was inevitable. Megatron put on a great enough show of strength to draw the entirety of the Autobot combat force away from the Ark.

 

This lack of Autobots at the Ark would allow Laserbeak to slip into the enemy ship completely unmolested for some serious information gathering. Meanwhile, Skywarp would be popping in and out of the battle like a maniac, causing a fair amount of havoc and hopefully distracting the Autobots enough that they wouldn’t notice that there weren’t two full trines in the air at any given time.

 

The members of the Command Trine were all present and accounted for. They would remain that way until Megatron called for a retreat. At given times Skywarp would be grabbing one of the Coneheads and warping them to locations that were usually under close Autobot supervision, then warping back to the battle alone while his passenger carried out a little daylight robbery.

 

After a few breems, give or take, Skywarp would return to fetch the missing Conehead back to the fight. There were three of these snatch-and-grab runs organised for this particular battle, which would hopefully be over before the humans called for help, alerting the Autoscum to the ruse. Soundwave was to stay out of sight and keep track of the little side-tripa to ensure that the Conehgeads didn’t get into trouble and keep Skywarp on task.

 

Before the Autobots arrived at the chosen battlefield Skywarp gave Buzzsaw an assist, warping the little symbiont up to the very limits of what his systems could handle. Far above, Buzzsaw now coasted in wide loops.

 

The avian symbiont was well out of sensor range and supposedly about a thousand feet above the Seekers ‘combat ceiling’ for this fight. Soundwave had no illusions as to whether or not they would actually stick to it when they really got going. If Starscream was provoked to the point of losing his bolts, his hold over the Seekers as Winglord would crumble and they’d revert to the Trine Bond, working in independent units of three instead of as a unified group. When that transpired, the Seekers as a whole would forget concept of limiting their altitude and Buzzsaw would have to get the slag out of there.

 

However, while Starscream kept his head Soundwave was able to receive a lovely stream of information from up high. It was a literal birds-eye view of the facility as the Autobot forces arrived. He relayed information on Optimus’ troop movements to Megatron as the Autobots deployed to face the Decepticons who were present.

 

Soundwave himself was positioned out of sight, crouched in a strange little rock-strewn pocket created by the mountain ridges surrounding the mines. He had secured a dozen heavily encrypted comm lines for Decepticon usage and was now focused on causing as much communications havoc as possible for the Autobots while he coordinated Skywarp’s little tiki tours and relayed useful information from Buzzsaw to Megatron.

 

The only Decepticon providing security for Soundwave was his felinoid symbiont. For this effort Soundwave would be splitting his processing power so many ways his general level of alertness would be compromised and he didn’t trust any of the Decepticons to not take advantage of the chance to shove a vibro-blade into his spark chamber.

 

The twin cassettes were down with Megatron to bulk out the Decepticon numbers. Rumble and Frenzy gleefully indulged in some creative verbal warfare, hurling insults as the last of the Autobots took up positions and transformed.

 

Predictably, Megatron and the Prime engaged in their usual pre-fight posturing and argument. To pass the time the cassetticons occupied themselves with a brief video clip contest; trying to see who could find the most fitting clip of earth mammals engaging in dominance displays. Soundwave let them have at it for a few minutes then called them back to task. Privately he was extremely entertained by Rumble’s find of a bulky ape that was the exact same silvery colour as Megatron and filed it away for future reference.

 

Even before the preliminaries were concluded the Autobots had noted Soundwave’s physical absence from the battlefield. Both Soundwave and Ravage received images from Buzzsaw of the scouts that had been deployed to search for him.

 

So far, only the minibot Bumblebee seemed to be anywhere near Soundwave’s position. Ravage was eagerly awaiting the chance to cut some furrows into that obnoxious yellow paint.

 

Via their symbiotic link Laserbeak reported that she had successfully penetrated the Ark’s outer defensive perimeter. Soundwave sent back an acknowledgement and a demand that she keep herself safe. A burst of affection came back before the sense of her in his spark dimmed. There would be absolutely no communication of any kind from the little avian until the end of her mission.

 

::Laserbeak: Phase one successful, Lord Megatron:: The hostmech commed to the Decepticon commander as Skywarp and one of the coneheads appeared in the sky several thousand feet below Buzzsaw. ::Also report successful first theft::

 

::Good work, Soundwave.:: Was the terse reply.

 

The returning pair of Seekers immediately went to the aid of Thundercracker and Dirge who were the current targets of the Lamborghini Twins’ Jet Judo. The Decepticon ground forces had been ordered to keep Suntreaker and Sideswipe out of the air, but had been supremely unsuccessful. If the thefts that were the whole point of this little skirmish didn’t go as planned, Soundwave knew the Pit itself would seem like a holiday after Megatron was done with whoever was at fault.

 

Somehow everything managed to go fairly smoothly right up until he signalled Skywarp went to grab Ramjet for the heavily armoured Seeker’s smash-and-grab mission.

 

Skywarp grabbed the Conehead and prepared to engage his transwarp generator. As Soundwave tracked the progress of the pair his symbiotic bond to Buzzsaw exploded with alarm. Still images and video feed streamed down to Soundwave as Ravage tensed in his hiding place on the ridge above him.

 

::Rumble, Frenzy; Evasive action!:: Soundwave sent desperately to the twin cassettes, his anxiety for the duo mixing with Buzzsaw’s growing panic.

 

Knowing better than to question THAT tone, the twins obeyed without hesitation, disengaging from their minibot target and preparing to dive in opposite directions. The crack and roar of displaced air from Skywarp’s departure with Ramjet cut through the cacophony of battle; then tragedy struck.

 

The twin cassettes were capable fighters, long practised at keeping their processors focused on preserving their chassis in a fight while blocking or ignoring the emotional overflow from their siblings if the other cassetticons were under too much pressure to keep their feelings from bleeding through the link. Normally Buzzsaw’s mounting terror on top of the suppressed worry from Soundwave and Ravage’s anxious tension would normally be no problem to push aside.

 

This time they saw what was coming as Buzzsaw’s visual feed overlaid on their own for the briefest of moments. It was a distraction that proved lethal as the sound of Skywarp’s exit with Ramjet caused them to trip and stumble.

 

The Autobot rockets that had been intended for Ramjet came down on the scrambling cassettes instead.

The rockets were human anti-aircraft ordinance had been retrofitted to take out Seekers; Frenzy and Rumble didn’t stand a chance. The rockets hit, annihilating them in a single blast of agony.

 

The pain of the rocket detonations were accompanied by wordless screams that ripped along the symbiotic spark bonds to their host and siblings before those bonds vanished, leaving nothing but great empty voids in the souls of their former bondmates.

 

High on the mountainside in the little rocky bowl Soundwave’s servos reached for his spark as he felt the bonds to the twins vibrate with unbearable pain before vanishing. Loss howled through him, echoed and amplified by the surviving cassettes as they struggled to comprehend what had happened to their siblings.

 

Of all of them, Soundwave alone had experience with forcing himself to survive the aftermath of a broken bond. Until now none of his cassettes had experienced this kind of spark-destroying hurt.

 

Ravage’s scream of rage and loss echoed from the mountain slopes, cutting through the curses and laser fire like a red hot knife through soft wax. For many, this was the first time they’d heard the symbiote voice anything other than a snarl.

 

The black felinoid exploded from her hiding place and headed directly for the most immediate threat to her host. Claws extended, she dropped straight onto an unprepared Bumblebee and began shredding any part of him she could reach.

 

Thrown off-balance by the unexpected assault, Bumblebee lost his equilibrium and began to slide down the opposite side of the ridge, losing sight of the main battle. In a snarling, yowling, cursing tangle of black and yellow armour plating Bumblebee and Ravage tumbled down the rugged slope.

 

After a hundred meters or so they crashed into a stand of pines, fists and claws still battering at each other. Ravage pressed the attack, consumed with a blind fury which was fuelled by the echoingly silent place in her spark where her brothers had been.

 

Overhead, Buzzsaw plummeted downwards in shock so great he was on the verge of total systems shutdown. The only thing his shuddering spark was capable of were futile efforts to reach out through broken bonds to his missing siblings, to the spark-that-was-two that _should still be there_.

 

A swift, nonsensical series of unrelated memories tumbled through Buzzsaw’s processor as he plunged from the sky; Frenzy finding the best online game for them to co-op in, Rumble’s last perfect prank of Starscream, that one time they had _somehow_ managed to leave ‘Sunstreaker looks like a tonka truck’ scrawled on walls of the Autobot washracks.

 

Some irrational part of Buzzsaw’s spark insisted that if he _just remembered hard enough_ he could bring the twins back to fill the void in his spark. It was an ultimately futile and stupid waste of precious time that he simply couldn’t help. He dropped like a stone, pulled to the Earth by a deadly combination of grief and gravity. Blindly, Buzzsaw tried to right himself, to get some sense of where he was. The tiny flyer had no idea that by now he was now right in the thick of the battle.

 

Before Buzzsaw could ping his altimeter to find out how much clear air was left between himself and mountain rock, the path of his descent intersected with the wildly bucking flight of an enraged Starscream. The Winglord was trying to dislodge a Sunstreaker who was elbow-deep in his cockpit, ripping into delicate internals with gleeful abandon.

 

Neither of the distracted fliers noticed the imminent collision until it was far too late. Efforts to correct their respective flight paths only succeeded in changing the angle of impact so that Buzzsaw’s spark chamber was impaled on the jutting spire of one of Starscream’s null rays, shattering the protective crystal of his laser core and snuffing the life it contained.

 

Twisted pieces of Buzzsaw’s corpse flew back into Sunstreaker’s face, momentarily blinding the yellow Lamborghini, causing him to lose his grip on Starscream. The Seeker did a looping roll in an attempt to clear the remaining pieces of Buzzsaws chassis from the leading edge of his wing before they fouled his turbines, conveniently dumping Sunstreaker off. Accellerating hard, Starscream headed for a higher altitude where the yellow Lamborghini couldn’t snag him again.

 

Out of sight and unaware of the demise of Buzzsaw, Bumblebee was taken by surprise when Ravage suddenly stopped trying to shred him into Camaro Confetti and went rigid; every strut seizing and locking. A sickening wheeze came from the felinoids vents, signalling a severely overstressed engine. The noise was temporarily blotted out by the sound of Sunstreaker smashing into the pines nearby.

 

Ravage’s seizure stopped as suddenly as it had started, leaving a very dented and confused Bumblebee holding a limp cassette at arm’s length, her forepaws draped bizarrely over his shoulders like an extremely awkward dance partner.

 

From the creative mix of English and Cybertronian curses that came drifting through the trees which occasionally punctuated by the sound of breaking branches, Bumblebee surmised that Sunstreaker had survived his fall. Vainly ‘Bee hoped that maybe _this_ time the yellow twin would be cured of his fascination with Jet Judo.

 

Across the ocean Laserbeak collapsed, driven into catatonia by the snapping of three bonds in such quick succession.

 

Before she entered the Ark the avian cassetticon had blocked the symbiotic links to her master and siblings as completely and thoroughly as she was able. She had been able to tell that they were still alive out there, somewhere, without having their day-to-day emotions and chatter right there distract her at a potentially fatal moment.

 

The muting of those bonds couldn’t shield Laserbeak from feeling the pain of her siblings’ deaths.

 

She had been in the middle of removing an air intake grille in the ceiling Prowl’s office. Her aim in doing so was to gain access to some of the Autobot TIC’s secure datafiles, ones that he hadn’t logged in Teletraan on the outside chance the supercomputer was ever hacked.

 

When the twins perished there wasn’t enough warning for Laserbeak to secure her location before her systems crashed in shock. The last image her optics captured before they shut down was an overhead view of Prowls desk as her head dropped limply through the open hole left by the removal of the grille.

 

Soundwave was struggling to continue with the scheme, forcing himself to stay functional after the deaths of the twins by sheer strength of will alone. He refused to call Ravage back, knowing that right now his felinoid cassette was better off acting out rather than turn the pain back in on herself.

 

The death of Buzzsaw, coming so unexpectedly and experienced through a link left wide-open to allow swifter information transfer from Buzzsaw’s aerial surveillance almost succeeded in annihilating Soundwave where hundreds of Autobot assassination attempts had failed.

 

Having seen death approaching his twin cassettes in the form of souped-up antiaircraft missiles, Soundwave had been able to brace himself somewhat for the backlash of the links between their sparks being suddenly ended.

 

Not so with Buzzsaw.

 

Unfortunately for the Host mech, with the bond linking himself to the avian symbiote open as wide as it was, the effect was magnified to the extent where he experienced Buzzsaw’s death is if it was his own.

 

Conflicting error reports and systems status reports cascaded down his HUD as Soundwave’s autonomous motor control failed and he crashed over sideways in his rocky redoubt.

 

The phantom sensor signals of a crushing chest wound, breached spark chamber and messy dismemberment washed over the shaking communications specialist as he fought desperately to remain conscious in the face of unbearable agony.

 

Distantly, Soundwave felt Ravage’s presence in his spark dim as if the cassette had lost consciousness. The presence of Laserbeaks presence strobed back into full contact for a single tortured instant before she too succumbed to backlash from the broken bonds.

 

Urgent comm pings from Megatron filtered vaguely through the churning hurricane that filled Soundwave’s awareness. Unthinkingly, he reached towards the Decepticon Leader with his telepathic abilities. In his current state it was the only form of communication Soundwave had left at his command.

 

= _Ssssndwavre; Aksssrtnowledgezrrr, Lord Megchkrttron_ = The telepathic communication was as glitched and staticky as the inside of his own overstressed and beleaguered mind, but it was still infinitely superior to the state Soundwave’s comms would be in at that moment.

 

The instant he brushed the edges of Megatron’s consciousness Soundwave realised his mistake. He was too damaged right now, unable to control what he did and did not communicate. The full, uncensored force of his current mental and emotional state after the loss of three bonded symbiotes was projected directly into Megatron’s mind along with his acknowledgement of the comm pings.

 

::SOUNDWAVE HAS BEEN COMPROMISED:: The enraged shriek across the command comm frequency startled Starscream into a barrel roll and seared the fringes of Soundwave’s battered consciousness.

 

The hostmech swiftly withdrew from Megatron’s mind even as it hardened against him; more firewalls than strictly necessary being thrown up in frantic haste against his mental presence.

 

Fighting desperately against imminent shutdown, Soundwave forcibly onlined uncooperative optics to see the outline of a distinctive Harrier Jet homing in on his position.

 

With the last dregs of strength available to him, Soundwave initiated his transformation sequence so that Starscream could carry out pickup and extraction. With static clouding his sight, Soundwave blearily wondered why the approaching Seeker’s Null Ray cannons appeared to be charging.

 

Then Starscream fired.

 

Soundwave’s world exploded into a maelstrom of shattering rock before everything went black.


	2. Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl's sense of humour makes the Sahara look like a swimming pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, kudos and comments? You guys rule! (Especially Oni_Gil) Thank you so much ^.^
> 
> I'm going to aim for a chapter per week with this fic, along with assorted other things. Because plot bunnies seem to multiply if you leave them alone together. (Of course, now I've said it life is probably going to fall on me) There is a fair bit of stuff noted down that takes place before this Fic, I just skipped over it to get straight to the 'fun part'.
> 
> Apologies in advance for grammar clunks and the utter mutilation of Jazz's accent.

::Comm Speak::

 

# CHAPTER TWO:  PROWL

 

Prowl realised something was up the instant Skywarp snatched one of the Conehead trine and warped away without reappearing within their immediate airspace. Perplexed, the Autobot SIC scanned the skies, briefly diverting his attention from the Decepticons they were currently battling for the possession of a human-run uranium mine.

 

The high-altitude perch he shared with Bluestreak and several MPAD-armed humans from the NEST unit provided Prowl with the best possible view of the current hostilities. Due to the Autobot’s human allies and superior teamwork skills, Prowl was only providing a general idea of battle strategy as he focused on sniping and gathering data on how well the combined NEST/Autobot forces operated for future analysis.

 

Oddly, Soundwave had not been immediately visible at Megatron’s right hand. His twin cassettes, however, were easily located by the dubious virtue of their generally loud and foul-mouthed dispositions. Prowl had no doubt that the telepathic Hostmech was nearby as the majority of their favoured comm frequencies were being jammed quite nastily, causing headaches for everyone.

 

Nevertheless, Soundwave’s lack of physical presence was not unusual. If the Decepticon TIC was planning to focus on impeding the Autobot communications he had a tendency to secrete himself in a secure location with his cassettes on guard to better focus on his task. As soon as Soundwaves absence was noted Prowl had sent scouts to find and neutralise the telepath. Upon doing so, Prowl had dismissed all thoughts of the Hostmech until Skywarp’s extremely unusual act.

 

One optic on the running timer in the corner of his HUD that he had initiated the instant he’d realised Skywarp had failed to reappear, the tactician donned his metaphorical strategist hat and returned his attention to the ebb and flow of the flow of battle raging around him

 

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had been unleashed on the Seekers with instruction to distract or remove as much of the Decepticon aerial support as they could. They had discovered early on that it was suicide to send human jet pilots against seekers. It didn’t stop the volunteers, as the humans appeared to be as insensible of their own mortality as sparklings were.

 

::Sunstreaker, Sideswipe. Skywarp appears be grabbing Seekers and teleporting with them at random. Stay alert::  Prowl commed the Twins as Skywarp popped back in, complete with Conehead baggage.

 

::Yeah, saw that::  Sideswipe replied as the returning flyers forced the twins to leave off pestering Thundercracker and Dirge.

 

Sunstreaker made an insane and incredibly lucky leap to land atop Starscream, gleefully smashing through the cockpit of the Winglords Harrier jet’s altmode to tear at internals while his twin hit the ground in a rolling tumble, spilling momentum without sustaining anything worse than cosmetic damage.

 

The red twin fetched up beside Ironhide and joined in the ground fight. Rumble and Frenzy were engaging their pile drivers and vocalisers indiscriminately without seeming to care who they were pounding or insulting, so long as the target bore the Autobrand on their chassis.

 

 _Wrongness_ tickled at Prowl’s processor. Something was not right here.

 

Both the Praxian’s original logic circuitry and the TacNet had begun to throw little red flags, informing him of the need for more data. As to what they required mor information about, however, they were frustratingly vague. The current Decepticon battle strategy was more coherent than was usually expected from Megatron. This facility was valuable, but not valuable enough for the numbers that the Decepticons had fielded. What was strangest, the Decepticons also did not seem to be focused on routing the Autobots as quickly as possible.

 

Prowl’s optics narrowed as he saw Skywarp link up with Ramjet, flickers of pre-warp energy displacement crackling over the pair. TacNet and Battle Computer connected the dots in the astroseconds between Skywarps initialisation of his warp sequence and its completion. The resulting sonic boom of displaced air created an ironically appropriate thunderclap accompanying the flood of realisation that crashed through Prowl’s processors.

_This was a distraction_.

 

::Sir; I have reason to believe that this is a-::  His comm to Optimus was immediately overridden by an all-channels broadcast alerting the Autobot forces to danger.

 

::STRAY SHOT! ‘WARE!::

 

Bluestreak had fired on Skywarp and Ramjet with a rather impressive new piece of anti-Seeker ordinance cooked up by Ironhide and some human weapons technicians. The targeted duo had unwittingly warped to safety, leaving some extremely nasty missiles heading for the ground-bound combatants.

 

Across the skirmish every single Autobot helm jerked upwards to assess the incoming danger. It would have been supremely funny if the situation wasn’t so deadly serious. Prowl had no doubts at all that later on there would be laughing in the Rec Room about this. As for the present, though . . .

 

::Cliffjumper MOVE:: Prowl commed the red minibot who was currently engaging Frenzy and Rumble simultaneously.

 

The relentless voice of _command_ snapped Cliffjumper out of the almost hypnotic trance he was caught in by sight of his approaching death and he dove frantically away, hoping to put as much distance between himself and the site of impact as possible.

 

Sideswipe had seen the leap from his perch in a tree, later swearing that he’d never before seen any mech make that long a jump relative to their height from a standing start. The twin Cassetticons weren’t so lucky, tripping over as the sound of Skywarp’s miniature sonic boom appeared to distract them momentarily.

 

The pair of heavily modified anti-Seeker SAMs hit the ground within a scant meter of each other. Despite being outfitted with battle-grade armour to increase their odds of survival, Soundwave’s most obnoxious symbionts didn’t have a chance in the Pit of surviving that kind of firepower.

 

The thin, rocky soil of the mountain valley exploded upwards in a doubled fountain; scattering debris over everyone on the ground. Autobot and Decepticon alike stood frozen in a bizarre tableau for a few nanoclicks while humans scrambled for cover as the wreckage thumped down around them.

 

The only mechs to avoid being pelted with small rocks and larger pieces of disintegrated Cassetticon were Sunstreaker and the scouts out searching for the dangerous and mysteriously absent Decepticon TIC. The yellow Lamborghini twin was currently several thousand feet in the air, completely destroying as much of Starscream’s non-vital internals as he could reach through the Seeker’s broken cockpit glass.

 

::Damage report!::  Prowl demanded. His message rang almost painfully clearly through the suddenly unjammed airwaves as the brief moment of stillness vanished and battle resumed with a cacophony of metal-on-metal.

 

::Do we have casualties?::  Ratchet’s message followed so quickly on the heels of Prowls that they overlapped slightly.

 

::I think my legs are AWOL. Maybe some of my torso too? It’s kinda hard to tell::  Cliffjumper sent to everyone within range. The edges of his words blurred slightly with static as the Cybertronian equivalent of shock set in.

 

From further up the mountain a horrific scream announced Ravage’s presence as the felinoid cassette burst out of hiding and barrelled into Bumblebee, the momentum of the attack carrying them over the side of a ridge and out of sight. The vague and diminishing sound of them crashing together could be heard filtering back from the direction of their fall.

 

::Ravage was likely guarding Soundwave. Surround the area and move in with extreme caution. The twins’ death may have left him weakened but do NOT underestimate him:: Prowl sent to the scouts.

 

::On it:: As the mech in charge of the scouts for this mission, it was Mirage who responded. ::’Bee will require backup. Ravage seems to have gone berserk::

 

::Understood:: Prowl cut the commlink and raised his rifle, once again scanning the skies to see what the Seekers were up to.

 

Starscream was twisting wildly all over the place in an attempt to throw Sunstreaker off, veering erratically in a way that mimicked a human rollercoaster. Some airborne debris that looked vaguely like a still-twitching chunk of Cassetticon ( _Shouldn’t be that high/Too heavy/Shape wrong/Oh **Primus** istha-_) briefly fouled one of the Decepticon SIC’s wings before it fragmented.

 

The cloud of metallic shrapnel that blew over Starscream’s back forced Sunstreaker to remove an arm from the Seeker’s cockpit to shield his optics. Feeling the yellow twin’s grip on his innards loosen Starscream bucked him off, sending his assailant soaring.

 

Freed of his unwanted and destructive passenger, Starscream shot up in as near a vertical climb as his altmode could manage while Sunstreaker plunged groundwards. A ping from the Battle Computer helpfully informed Prowl that Sunstreaker’s trajectory would take the yellow twin close to where the Praxian had last seen Bumblebee and Ravage.

 

::Sunstreaker is inbound for Bumblebee’s location. If he survives impact with at least three limbs he should be able to provide Bumblebee with adequate support::  Prowl said, reopening his channel to Mirage.

 

:: _Don’t_ tell me the odds of that happening::  Mirage moaned, keeping the line to Prowl open until he found Bumblebee.  ::Save it for Jazz. He finds that kind of thing funny and you **know** I don’t::

 

::Without more detailed knowledge of the terrain any probabilities I could calculate would not be accurate in any case::  Prowl replied absently, firing at Thundercracker who had flown low enough to be dangerous. ::The topographical information I received did not include much of the vegetation, creating too many unknowns variables for me to be satisfied with what odds my Battle Computer has already generated::

 

Prowl made a mental note to triple-check any information received from humans in future as well as cross-referencing it with the types of local flora. Earth vegetation grew so _fast_ and provided too many obstacles for him to forget to include it in future.

 

:: **That** is exactly what I mean. I’m never sure if you’re being morbid, funny or totally factual::  Mirage’s tone was briefly teasing before becoming businesslike again. ::Bumbebee and Sunstreaker located. Ravage is down. We shall move in on Soundwave once we secure the cassette.::

 

::Acknowledged:: Prowl closed down his end of the line and turned his attention back to the battle.

 

Sideswipe was no longer in his tree, having apparently located one of Cliffjumper’s truant legs. Despite his dislike of Minibots, the red Lambo Twin was keeping Decepticons away as Ratchet worked frantically to stabilise Cliffjumper for transport back to the Ark. If he wasn’t immediately homing in on his brother, then Sunstreaker had obviously survived his fall with no life-threatening damage. Prowl and Bluestreak provided support, laser shot and acid pellets discouraging the Decepticon ground troops trying to capture or offline the distracted Medic.

 

Without warning, Starscream dove towards the mountainside. Both Null Rays opened fire and pulverised a section of the ridge with an unusually intense barrage. His objective apparently achieved the Seeker put his nosecone to the sky again, streaking away as Megatron bellowed a retreat. The warlord sounded abnormally frantic. What in the Pit had just happened?!

 

The Decepticon retreat was messy and incredibly disorganised even for the notoriously disorganised faction. Prowl and Bluestreak maintained their positions, providing aerial defence alongside the NEST team until the Seekers were out of sight. Linking in with the human commander-on-site Prowl began co-ordinating pickup and retrieval for the wounded. Those who were still mobile secured the area and checked for any little ‘surprises’ the Decepticons may have left behind.

 

Bumblebee and Sunstreaker came back into view over the ridge carrying a limply unconscious and thoroughly immobilised Ravage between them. All three were extremely battered, but would survive without urgent repairs while Ratchet worked on Cliffjumper. A vague warping of the air resolved itself into Mirage as he disengaged his cloaking and went to make an in-person report to Optimus.

 

For a brief and horribly disconcerting moment Prowl thought Sunstreaker had somehow acquired a set of brown-and-green sensor wings. It wasn’t until he reset his optics that the Tactician realised that it was simply a pair of pine branches wedged into the frontliner’s back plating. Sideswipe started laughing too hard to remove them, only sobering when his enraged twin actually _threw_ the unconscious Ravage at his head.

 

::Prowler, Ahm up on th’ ridge. Yah gonna want to come see what Screamer tried to nuke::  An unexpected comm from Jazz broke into Prowl’s awareness.

 

The unusually serious tone of the saboteur’s voice set off alarms in Prowl’s processor. When Jazz sounded like that it usually meant that the end of the world was coming in some form or other. With a groan that was strictly internal, Prowl pinged Otimus and opened a commline to the Prime.

 

::Prime, I’m going to join Jazz. He is checking the site of Starscream’s last target and requires my presence. I assume there may be information of some value up there.::

 

The leader of the Autobot forces was occupied with helping Ratchet to prepare Cliffjumper for transport. He was currently the only ‘bot on the battlefield able to handle Ratchet when his patient was in serious condition without being injured by the medic for not moving fast enough.

 

::Understood, Prowl. Jazz has already been in contact with me. . . . He says some of the surrounding rock has been unstabilised and to approach the blast site from the opposite side of the ridge::

 

Prowl’s doorwings gave an irritated flick. Why couldn’t Jazz have told him that himself?!

 

::Thank you for the warning. I shall keep you informed. Prowl out::  Closing the line and switching to verbal speech, Prowl told Bluestreak where he was going and headed off around the mountain.

 

Away from the disturbance created by the battle and its aftermath the forest was eerily silent, all wildlife scared into hiding by the latest clash of the Cybertronian civil war. As he crossed the lower portion of the ridge and began moving uphill the tactician slowed his pace, all senses alert and his rifle at the ready in case Laserbeak or Buzzsaw were waiting in ambush. To the Praxian’s tense and overstrained senses his every soft pedefall sounded like Optimus stomping on a hollow floor.

 

Prowl reached Jazz’s position without incident, although by now his doorwings were practically itching with tension as the expected aerial attack failed to materialise. The silver minibot waved him up the slope, having picked one of the last stable places big enough to support two mechs as the best spot to wait for Prowl. He sprawled across the rocky ground like a silver leopard, looking as comfortable as if he was relaxing on a three-meter thickness of the highest quality berth padding.

 

“What took ya so long, Prowler? Ah nearly fell asleep up here waitin’ fer ya!” The cheerful greeting was entirely out of place. Prowl suppressed the urge to growl at the TIC. “Ah foun’ us a path down t’ th’ Thing of Interest that should hold yah weight. Yah still gotta be careful, though. Screamer did quite a bit of damage when he shot up the place.”

 

Without giving Prowl a chance to respond, Jazz picked himself up off the ground and led the Tactician along a winding and increasingly dangerous path. The closer they got to the site of Starscream’s attack, the more attention Prowl had to pay to where he was putting his pedes. The ground was strewn with freshly broken rocks and the stone beneath it had cracked and fractured along pre-existing lines of weakness.

 

“There.” Jazz stopped and pointed to the epicentre of the destruction. “Is it just meh, or does that look like a mech down there?”

 

Prowl cycled his optics through several ranges of magnification and what portions of the electromagnetic spectrum were available to him, surveying the entire crater. It looked like it had once been a vaguely bowl-shaped dip at the point where the ridge joined on to a larger extrusion of the Earth’s crust. Thanks to Starscream It was significantly deeper now and a minor landslide from the slope above flattened one side, spilling partway across the bottom of the freshly deepened pocket.

 

Jazz was right; there were twisted metal pieces of Cybertronian origin sticking out of the debris. It was difficult to tell whether or not they were indeed part of a mech, but given the level of destruction Starscream had wrought it was not too great a stretch to assume that they could be the limbs of a severely battered Cybertronian somewhere between Prowl and Optimus in mass.

 

There was an unspoken agreement that any potential Cybertronian artefacts were better investigated by Autobots than left to the Decepticons or less trustworthy human factions. At a nod from Jazz, Prowl commed Optimus while the saboteur started searching for the safest route to their target.

 

::Sir; we have an unknown artefact of Cybertronian origin:: Receiving a wordless noise of acknowledgement, he continued. :: Jazz and I will proceed on foot to investigate. Requesting air evac for the object once we have excavated it.::

 

::You shall have the evac. Skyfire has already taken Ratchet and the worst of the wounded back to the Ark Base. A human helicopter will be available if the mass of what you have discovered does not exceed its capabilities.::

 

::Understood, Sir. I shall be in touch when we know what we are dealing with. Prowl out::

 

The pair picked their way slowly down into the epicentre of destruction. Moving carefully they cleared rubble from what was indeed a mech in very bad shape, having taken a direct shot from the null ray to his torso as well as several glancing blows before part of the mountain had collapsed on him. What paint hadn’t been burned or abraded from the oddly flattened limbs was a dark, lustrous blue-black.

 

It wasn’t until Prowl removed a slab of shale that had been covering the mech’s chest and blocking the faint spark signature that they knew who the mystery mech was. In a mild state of shock, the SIC opened a channel to Optimus and had to be prodded into relaying the find by an irritably preoccupied Prime.

 

:: Sir. . .  It appears that what Starscream tried to destroy . . . was Soundwave::

 


	3. Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl's supervisor for his Postgrad Diploma in Effective Threatening was Ratchet.  
> No surprises there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last week has been utter assbiscuits so this chapter is shorter and probably rough. I hope that Jazz taking the mickey out of Prowl makes up for it.
> 
>  
> 
> ::Comm Speak::

# CHAPTER THREE: PROWL

 

::From his actions, I believe that Megatron is currently unaware of Soundwave’s status. This is an opportunity we cannot afford to waste.::

 

Optimus’ grimly pragmatic summary of the situation tallied with Prowl’s own assessment. By this point in the war their views on what advantage they could gain would doubtless be more aligned than they had been during the early vorns. The interminable war had tempered the Prime’s sunny worldview until he was almost unrecognisable from the mech he had been before.

 

::We shall require aid to transport Soundwave to your location once we have dug him out and assessed his injuries::  Prowl replied, attaching a databurst estimating Soundwave’s current mass and the topography of their current location. ::The NEST team has a helicopter on site that should be capable of moving Soundwave.::

 

::I will arrange it. Contact me when you are ready for the airlift.::  It was obvious that Optimus considered the matter settled and his attention had already turned back to dealing with the aftermath of the skirmish with Megatron’s forces

 

::Acknowledged. I shall compile a preliminary report on his current medical status for you to forward to Ratchet when we request the airlift. Prowl out::  Closing the line, Prowl switched to verbal speech.

 

“Optimus wants him in one piece, so behave yourself.” Prowl glared at the silver mech who had already started digging Soundwave out and wasn’ being terribly careful about it.

 

“Ah can’t wait t’ hear Th’ Hatchets reaction to this.” Jazz sounded like all his birthday gifts had come at once but immediately began taking more care with how he moved around the downed Decepticon. “Did ya figure out how we’re gettin’ this slagger back to base?”

 

“NEST has a helicopter capable of getting Soundwave to Skyfire’s landing site.” Prowl replied, moving to assist the Saboteur. “You and I shall have to walk back, however.”

 

“A walk through the woods with Th’ Hardaft himself?” The Saboteur laughed as he freed one of Soundwave’s arms from the pile of rock that had half-buried the comatose mech. “Ya sure Prime isn’ angry wit’ meh for somethin’?”

 

“Shut up and work.” Prowl growled, doorwings flickering minutely. As he was facing away from Jazz the silver mech didn’t catch the almost-smile tugging at one side of Prowl’s mouthplates.

 

“Nah, I’m startin’ t’ like the idea!” Jazz snickered as Prowl’s optics flashed and he froze in alarm. “Just _imagine_ how well th’ Twins would behave if ya threatened ‘em with ya company as punishment instead of brig time.”

 

The neat bait-and-switch had Prowl practically vibrating with conflicting impulses, horror and outrage chasing the insane urge to throttle Jazz around all levels of his processor. Both the Tac-Net and Battle Computer were distracted with the problems posed by the unconscious mech currently leaking energon onto the rocks beside him, leaving Prowl almost-but-not-quite able to process the first part of what Jazz suggested without risking a crash. Doorwings rose high in a threat display as scattered wits formulated the only possible response to such an outrageous suggestion.

 

“If you ever so much as _think_ that in their presence, I shall see to it that not even Primus and Unicron together would be able to locate the pieces of your dismembered frame.”

 

~~~

 

With Jazz pretending to be appropriately chastened, Soundwave was excavated and assessed for airlift in record time. It would be an extremely short hop over the ridge and onto the relatively flat area of the recent battlefield where Autobots and NEST awaited Skyfire’s return. Still, the Hostmech was in desperate need of emergency repairs before he could be shifted even that far.

 

Combining the supplies from both Prowl’s standard first aid kit and the Ops-grade kit Jazz pulled from subspace got Soundwave to the point where he could be moved without the risk of inadvertently deactivating during transport.  Once the Hostmech was stable, Prowl notified Optimus to send the helicopter over while Jazz rigged a harness to support the injured mech as he hung below the helicopter.

 

The airlift went off without a hitch.

 

Skyfire was already on his way back from the Ark and was extremely unhappy to find out about the additional passenger for his next trip. The normally easy-going shuttle was so angry he even contacted Prowl to let him know just how upset he was to have the telepath on-board. The SIC dismissed all of Skyfire’s concerns and cut him off with an unsubtle reminder of military hierarchy.

 

While the helicopter pilots floundered though the air dangling a comatose Soundwave below their aircraft, Jazz and Prowl worked their way back out of the blasted area and down through the forest on foot. As neither Laserbeak nor Buzzsaw had poked their olfactory sensors in by this point Prowl didn’t bother to retrieve his rifle from subspace for the return trip.

 

It was no longer perfectly silent in the alpine forest. The smallest creatures were slowly resuming their daily routines now that the random explosions had stopped. Despite the fact that they were dealing with the aftermath of a nasty battle and an extremely dangerous prisoner Prowl found himself almost enjoying the walk.

 

Along the border of the pine forest the sun shone down unimpeded, reflecting dully off battle-scratched and dusty armour. Absently, Prowl wondered what it would be like to return to this place or one like it after the war was over. To be able go for a walk with a friend just for the pleasure of it. Or maybe with someone who was more than a friend?

 

Ruthlessly, Prowl cut off that particular line of thought line of thought and deleted it before the Battle Computer caught on and caused mayhem. The last thing he needed right now was a crash or to have the mods bury what was _him_ beneath a brutal cascade of logic.

 

“Ain’t this lovely?” Jazz said, looking everywhere but at the trench Bumblebee and Ravage’s fall had gouged into the hillside. The Saboteur’s visor flashed where the sun caught it and Prowl hurriedly directed his gaze back to the pine forest.

 

“It is very peaceful.” Prowl agreed.

 

The sound of labouring rotors dropped below the threshold of typical Cybertronian hearing as the pair passed the torn-up earth where Bumblebee and Ravage had had their scuffle. Quiet reigned as they found the tracks left by the group who had carried the unconscious cassette back to the rest of the Autobots and followed them down the mountain.

 

“Ah think we scared th’ birds off with th’ fightin’. It’d be nice t’ come back an’ see them when we’re not worryin’ ‘bout havin’ our afts shot off.” The saboteur sounded wistful. It was highly unlikely that any member of the Autobot command structure would have time for extended sightseeing in the foreseeable future.

 

“I wasn’t aware that you liked birdwatching.” Prowl was surprised. Ornithology didn’t seem like a hobby that would suit the silver minibot at all.

 

Despite how long they had known each other, Prowl was still discovering new things about the frustrating mech he called friend. Even though Jazz was the head of Special Operations, Prowl suspected the reverse was also true. He sent a silent thanks to Primus that Mystère had seriously expurgated Prowl’s file before turning her position over to Jazz. By now there were probably less than a handful of ‘bots who knew the full truth of Prowls history, which was better for everyone.

 

“Bird Watchin’ ain’t mah thing; but Ah do love watchin’ birds.” Jazz enjoyed the utterly baffled look on Prowl’s faceplate before taking pity and explaining his strange statement. “It’s th’ way they _move_ , Prowler. Ah never saw anything flyin’ by movin’ its wings before we got to Earth. Some of ‘em sound pretty good, too.”

 

“I. . . see.” It was obvious the Prowl didn’t understand, at least not entirely.

 

Once again the conversation was straying near to subjects that were best avoided. They rounded the bottom of the ridge and the rest of the Autobot forces came into view, Prowl ex-vented with relief. It didn’t matter so much if he crashed now, there were plenty of mechs still standing who could toss him into Skyfire’s hold.

 

“Nah, ya don’t.” Jazz laughed, recognising dangerous ground and moving neatly to avoid it with an ease that came from vorns of practise. “Ah’ll get Blue to explain it t’ya when we get back to base. Ahm sure he’d love to.”

 

“Bluestreak is currently entertaining himself with a systematic study of Earth’s popular culture, country-by-country.” Prowl said sardonically, “I have no doubt that he would resent being distracted from his inquiries.”

 

“Ah well. Guess ya’ll have to suffer in ignorance then.” Jazz said cheerily as the pair of officers approached the makeshift landing strip where Skyfire was already waiting for his final load of passengers.

 

Impassively, Prowl watched the mangled and badly patched frame of a comatose Soundwave being loaded into Skyfire’s hold. This was an incredible opportunity for the Autobots. With Prowl’s knowledge of Hostmech culture and the interrogation skills of Spec Ops, they would be able to gain a large amount of information from Soundwave. The chance of persuading the notoriously loyal mech to defect was so slim Prowl didn’t even bother contemplating it.

 

Battle Computer already working furiously, the SIC asked leave of Skyfire to come aboard before entering the shuttle’s hold. Skyfire sounded distinctly cold as he granted permission. Ignoring everyone around him, the Tactician found a seat commanding a good view of the unconscious Decepticon and began to run through the best avenues of influencing their captive.

 

Frenzy and Rumble were both definitively offline and of no use to them except for their having created the moment of weakness which had allowed Bumblebee to subdue Ravage and take the felinoid cassette prisoner. Hopefully the shock of their deaths would keep Soundwave destabilized long enough for the Autobots to make progress without resorting to hacking the Hostmech.

 

Dismissing the twin cassettes from his plans, Prowl shifted his gaze from the comatose Hostmech to the once cassette they had managed to capture.

 

Ravage was trussed up firmly, bindings secured to the floor of Skyfire’s cargo bay to keep the cassette from sliding around during transit. Prowl was pleased someone had saved him the trouble of doing so. Causing gratuitous harm to a bonded symbiote was one of the fastest ways to earn the enmity of its host that Prowl knew of and the Tactician had no desire to give Soundwave any more reasons to be difficult than he already had.

 

It appeared that someone had locked a modified stasis collar around Ravage’s short neck. The collar fitted fairly well, looking like it had been made for the cassette by someone who was relying on visual measurements. Prowl assumed the collar was there to prevent escape attempts if the felinoid onlined without warning and made a mental note to ask Jazz and Wheeljack if they knew anything about how it had been made.

 

While neither of the avian Cassetticons were accounted for, Prowl had no doubts that if they simply waited long enough the pair of flyers would show up.

 

If they were bonded, symbiotes needed regular contact with their host or else both parties suffered extremely unpleasant side-effects. The length of time they were able to stay apart varied greatly depending on the individuals involved. Strong as they undoubtedly were, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw would eventually be forced to attempt to re-join their host or risk serious systems damage.

 

Prowl would have to make sure that the Autobots were waiting for them when they did.

 

An unexpected comm ping broke into the Tactician’s plotting. Expecting Optimus or Jazz, Prowl accepted without checking the ID of the caller.

 

::Prowl here.::

 

::WHAT THE FRAG DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, BRINGING SOUNDWAVE TO THE ARK? DON’T YOU REALISE I HAVE ENOUGH WORK TO DO, REBUILDING HALF OF CLIFFJUMPER WITHOUT HAVING TO DEAL WITH A WRECKED TELEPATH AS WELL?! HAS THAT GLITCH-RIDDEN PIECE OF SLAG YOU USE FOR A PROCESSOR FINALLY LIQUEFIED?!?::


	4. Soundwave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit longer, to make up for it being late. Editing was a trifle rushed because of Work Dramas -.-; Usual apologies for grammar errors. I sincerely hope this hurts as much to read as it did to write/edit. 
> 
> If you'd like the 'soundtrack' for this chapter, these are what I had on repeat while writing:  
> 'You Know Nothing' ~Ramin Djawadi  
> 'Kill them All' ~Ramin Djawadi  
> 'Tessa' ~Steve Jablonsky  
> 'Sentinel Prime' ~Steve Jablonsky

# CHAPTER FOUR: SOUNDWAVE

 

Soundwave onlined gradually, the distinctive glyphs and symbols of an induced medical stasis coming up on his HUD as processors and systems restarted with agonizing slowness. His spark felt strange, as if gaping holes had been torn into it and then partially bandaged over. The hurt was set at one remove from his consciousness, so he was content to float in this odd numbness until the medical start-up was done and his recent memory cache caught him up on the situation.

 

The first warning that all was not right was a note that his telepathic mods had been physically walled off from the rest of his processors. It did not saw whether they had been completely removed or had simply been disabled. Alarm stabbed at Soundwave and he struggled against the pace of the forced boot sequence, trying to speed things up so he could online his optics to find out _what the slag_ was going on.

 

“Don’t even _think_ about trying to rush that reboot or I’ll slap you right back under again.” A disembodied growl reached his audios.

 

Even without full waking access to his memory banks the voice was familiar. One to be obeyed in the context of a medical boot-up, even without the subharmonics only used by a mech who was the sole authority of their realm. Reluctantly, Soundwave forced himself to relax and let the foreign scripts determine how he came back online.

 

The next notices to roll past dumped a fresh wave of horror through the Hostmech’s lines. Not only were his telepathic mods disabled, but his long _and_ short-range comms were as well! It was an extremely small comfort to see that his vocaliser was still operational. It was set to initialise right at the end of the boot sequence. About a klick after full optic function was due to be restored, if the glyphs scrolling past on his HUD was to be believed.

 

“Good.”  The owner of the vaguely familiar voice must have been observing and somehow divined Soundwave’s reluctant compliance with his immediate fate. “I’ve tried to make this as easy as I possible for you, given the circumstances. It’s still going to be fairly nasty, though. No getting around that.”

 

A sudden pulse from his spark agreed with the last statement the invisible mech (A Medic?) made before whoever it was fell silent and waited for Soundwave to reach full awareness. Now that he was more aware of it, the way his spark was aching made Soundwave wish that he could plunge right back into the blissful unawareness of unconsciousness and not face whatever was causing that much discomfort. Even without full access to his memory banks it felt recognisable in a bad way.

 

No matter what it was; Soundwave would survive.

 

He was superior to anything the universe could throw at him.

 

That determination was tested less than a klick later as he received notice that motor function to most of his body had been disabled while the neural feedback and main sensor networks hadn’t been touched. Before he could begin thrashing what parts he _could_ control to express fury at the violations he had been subjected to, Soundwave felt the distinctive weight and systems vibrations of two familiar frames draped over his torso.

 

Autonomous reactions coded so deeply into him that not even medical overrides could touch them kept Soundwave still for fear of harming the smaller beings that felt of _cassette/symbiote/ **protect**_.

 

Moments later, the medical boot onlined the systems that allowed him to feel the subdued EM fields of Ravage and Laserbeak interacting with his own. Against his will, the rage-born tension drained out of him to become a cold and calculating calm. Soundwave wondered who else besides himself was left in the universe that knew to use the cassettes and Hostmecha instincts to manipulate him like this.

 

The very fact that an unknown mech had that kind of knowledge made Soundwave very worried.

 

Before he could begin to question why there were only two of his bonded family recharging against him, his HUD politely announced that the recent memory cache dump was about to begin. Without fully knowing why, Soundwave tried to brace himself.

 

A replay of the diversionary battle against the Autobots crashed through his processor like a tsunami, sweeping everything before it with the knowledge that three of his symbiotes, fully half of their lost little fragment of the Clan, were _gone_.

 

All the pieces of his frame that Soundwave had power over started to seize; struts creaking as his frame irrationally tried to reject the situation. If his vocaliser had been online, Soundwave would have been sobbing static.

 

Somehow, he managed to survive the initial wave of _knowing_. Desperately the Hostmech clung to sanity, using the feel of Laserbeak and Ravage against him as an anchor. Eventually, the deluge ebbed enough for Soundwave to regain some control of his frame and processors.

 

An odd noise provided another hold on reality for him to cling to. It was faint at first, then louder as external stimuli were gradually processed again. The sound was the rattling of overtaxed cooling fans. Someone’s systems were running on the thin edge of redlining. A warning popped up on Soundwave’s HUD, distracting him from the noise.

  

The rattling was _his_ vents.

 

Prodded by the instincts which the familiar fields of his symbiotes invoked, Soundwave began trying to win back some conscious control over his rebellious systems. The churning hurricane of a triple symbiotic bond break spread out from his spark in surges, threatening to literally tear his frame apart from the inside out if he didn’t actively stop it.

 

Engrossed with his inner battle, Soundwave didn’t realise the medical reboot sequence was finished until the voice from earlier spoke with a rough sort of sympathy.

 

“You should be about caught up with reality by now.”

 

Memory access meant identification. The Hostmech snapped his optics online when he placed the voice as belonging to the Autobot Medic Ratchet.

 

“Affirrrchstissszt.” Soundwave tried to speak, his vocaliser producing nothing but barely-comprehensible static. “Affirmative.” Several vocaliser resets produced a wavering, crackly word that was more-or-less comprehensible.

 

“And as talkative as ever.” Ratchet had the temerity to chuckle.

 

Given the Medic’s reputation, Soundwave wasn’t about to begrudge the mech some gallows humour. Still, laughter was wildly inappropriate considering the loss storming through the Hostmechs systems. He kept his gaze trained stoically on the hideously orange ceiling of the Ark’s Medbay and continued to wrestle with his out-of-control frame.

 

“Right. I’m the first to admit that I don’t have much experience in dealing with Hostmecha and Cassettes.” The Autobot sounded conflicted about having to admit a gap in his knowledge. “I only dealt with one member of the Clans before the war, and that was during medical school.” Soundwave didn’t even flick a finger to indicate that he was listening.

 

“A Hostmech called Blaster did a short course. The main point was to inform us all that no matter what it looked like to our tender sensibilities, the Carrier/Cassette relationship wasn’t one of enslavement.” Ratchet paused again, as if waiting for a reaction. Soundwave didn’t give him one, so the Medic continued his little talk. “I chose to specialise in Airframes instead of Hostmecha, as you no doubt know. However, one think this Primus-forsaken war has done is given me is plenty of experience in dealing with broken sparkbonds.” Ratchets voice became deadly serious as Soundwave remained unresponsive, wrestling with his internals and letting the Autobot’s words roll over him.

 

“I need you to give me specifics.” A gust of air as Ratchet moved closer to the trio on the medberth. “What I can do to help you and your cassettes. I’ve never dealt with a case like yours before. The readings I’ve been getting from you three are so slagged I almost don’t know what I’m looking at.” There was definite frustration –and was that guilt?- in Ratchet’s voice now.

 

“We almost lost all _three_ of you to unpredictable spark surges before Prowl butted in.” It was the mention of Prowl, not the steadily increasing guilt in Ratchet’s voice the grabbed Soundwave’s attention. “He insisted we stick you three together, so we’ve been keeping Ravage and Laserbeak sedated and close to you at all times. It got you three a Pit of lot closer to stable than anything I could think of.”

 

So _Prowl_ was the mystery mech who knew about Hostmecha and Cassettes? Soundwave tagged the information as ‘Interesting: Investigate further’ and tucked it away in the rather large mental file reserved for the Autobot SIC. The same Host coding that was forcing Soundwave to fight the backlash finally prodded him to speak.

 

“Ratcsshet: Asszumption mistachken.” Soundwave croaked, vocaliser _finally_ producing more sound than static.

 

He despised revealing this much weakness to the enemy, but the Medic had to know what he was dealing with _now_. For the sake of Laserbeak and Ravage, he had to correct Ratchet’s false assumptions and Soundwave would just have to deal with the consequences later. It was imperative that the cassettes received appropriate medical care. Host coding or no, it was his responsibility to care for those who were his.

 

“What do you mean, _mistaken?_ ” The Medic actually sounded offended, which provided Soundwave with an astroclick of grim amusement.

 

“Ratchet: Assumes two bonded lost.” A deep, steadying in-vent and Soundwave forced the next words out past a desperate urge to keen. “Reality: Three. Buzzsaw: offlined shortly after Rumble, Frenzy.”

 

He couldn’t force himself to continue, not after actually vocalising what had happened. Soundwave offlined his vocaliser so no undignified sounds could escape it as he fought against a stinging sensation that pulsed outwards from his damaged spark. He was _Soundwave._ He did not weep.

 

Ratchet’s cursing was truly inventive, borrowing freely from English and Cybertronian alike. Archiving choice word combinations for later reference provided a reference point for Soundwave as he hauled himself to a precarious point of stability from which to focus on the situation at hand.

 

“Precisely.” The cool voice of the Autobot SIC cut through the Medic’s tirade.

 

Soundwave had been so absorbed in listening to Ratchet’s virtuoso usage of profanity and fighting the physical damage the broken bonds were slowly causing his systems he hadn’t registered the arrival of the Autobot Tactician. Even knowing that Prowl was in the room, he couldn’t even hear a whisper from the other mech’s systems. His cassettes hadn’t been exaggerating at all when they complained about how quiet the mech was.

 

“This is the _last_ slagging thing we need right now.” Ratchet groused as Prowl approached the trio of Decepticons on the medberth.

 

Soundwave felt a small flash of amusement as Prowl deliberately made noise with his pedes against the floor as he crossed the room, allowing Soundwave to track where he was. He had no such problems with Ratchet, even when the Medic wasn’t swearing like a maestro. Ratchet produced the normal level of systems noise that one would expect from a mech of his size and frametype.

 

“You have made sure that everyone responsible is _painfully_ aware of your opinion of the decision to take Soundwave into Autobot custody.” Prowl’s rich voice spoke volumes of taxed patience with the faintest ghost of dry amusement.

 

The threat the Autobot SIC posed to his unconscious and vulnerable cassettes had Soundwave attempting to force himself to a sitting position. His very being demanded that he be in a position to defend them on the off-chance that Prowl tried to harm them. With only limited access to his motor controls, the attempt became a spectacular failure. All Soundwave managed to do was lever himself up just far enough to make a horrible racket when his arms gave out and he crashed back onto the medberth.

 

The anticipation of a burst of raucous laughter from Frenzy and Rumble that _didn’t come_ caused his spark to flare grief again, jolting hard though autonomics Soundwave had nly just barely managed to get under control. His fans whined, dumping heat from stressed systems. Slag slag slag slag slag this was NOT how things were supposed to happen!

 

“You were supposed to wait until I cleared him, you penguin-processored Praxian _idiot_.” Ratchet snarled at Prowl.

 

The Medic stabbed something into a main energon line in Soundwave’s left arm, sending a flood of welcome coolness through his frame. While Soundwave had his doubts about the Ex-Enforcer’s willingness to injure someone ensconced on a medberth in order to gain an advantage for his faction; he had no doubts whatsoever about how seriously Ratchet took his medical oaths. No matter how much he disliked Soundwave, so long as he was in Ratchet’s jurisdiction the Medic would treat him the same as any other patient of his.

 

Apart from the bit where he’d gone and disabled Soundwave’s comms, paralysed parts of his frame and physically isolated the telepathic mods from the rest of the Hostmech’s processors. The paralysis likely took the place of physical restraints to keep him immobile. Given the notorious paranoia of the Ark’s Chief of Security Soundwave was honestly surprised they hadn’t simply lobotomised him to remove the problem for good. He wasn’t happy with this at all, but given the alternatives he wasn’t going to complain too much.

 

Ratchet liberally hurled abuse at both Prowl and the stubborn Hostmech, moving to assist Soundwave into a sitting position. The CMO possessed strength that appeared to be out of proportion to his size, if one didn’t know anything about the structural requirements for Medic frames.

 

“Stubborn slaggers; the both of you.” Ratchet snarled, glaring at Prowl. “I told _you_ to fragging well wait _outside_ until he was online and fully stabilised. And as for **you** ,” The irate medic turned his glare on Soundwave, “I know you’re able to comprehend the particulars of your condition. If you want to move _ask_ for assistance. I’m not wasting any on time popping out dents caused by half-bitted pride.”

 

“Soundwave: Acknowledges.” He couldn’t keep all of the resignation out of his voice as Ratchet assisted him upright. The more he co-operated, the sooner he and his cassettes would be allowed to escape the Medbay for the relative safety of the Autobot brig.

 

Prowl actually moved closer during the brief mauver, by all appearances completely ready to catch Laserbeak or Ravage if they slipped off the berth. Soundwave bristled unconsciously at the dangerous mech coming so close to the vulnerable cassettes. The Tactician noticed and backed off, hands held away from his subspace pockets in order to reassure Soundwave that he was not going for a weapon.

 

“You know as well as I that the sooner I get answers, the sooner your Medbay is off security lockdown.” Prowl said acidly, doorwings held high and directed towards the irate Medic.

 

“Ask. Then get out.” Ratchet snarled, a tone distinctly at odds with the careful motions he used to take readings from the two comatose cassettes draped over the lower half of Soundwave’s frame.

 

“Query: Prowl intends interrogation?” Soundwave asked flatly. He wasn’t in the mood to pussyfoot around and play verbal games. Especially not while Ravage and Laserbeak were essentially at the mercy of the notoriously ruthless Praxian.

 

Optic ridges raised in surprise as Prowl turned his full attention to the mech on the medberth. Soundwave didn’t flinch at the cool regard, resisting the urge to flare his armour to make himself appear more intimidating. Whatever Ratchet had injected him with earlier dulled the throbbing side-effects of backlash enough for Soundwave to focus on his immediate goals. Protect his cassettes. Survive.

 

“Well, nobody ever accused _you_ of beating around the bush.” Prowl spoke in English, diplomatically selecting a linguistic neutral ground.

 

One side of the Autobot’s mouth quirked up in the same half-smile that the aerial cassettes had often recorded Prowl aiming at Jazz when nobody was looking. _Insert comment from either Twin here_ , Soundwave thought wryly.

 

Ratchet growled something uncomplimentary under his breath, the words unintelligible beneath the angry idle of his engine. He never stopped moving, ignoring Prowl as he continued tending to his patients. Soundwave didn’t react to Prowl’s choice of language or the use of idiom, waiting for the mech to get to the point.

 

Eventually realising he wasn’t going to get a response, Prowl vented a sigh and deliberately threw their little battle of wills.

 

“Yes; I am here to ask you some questions, but not to ‘interrogate’ you in the sense you were no doubt implying.” Black-and-white doorwings twitched in a movement Soundwave couldn’t decipher before Prowl continued, “Ratchet has informed me the Buzzsaw has joined Rumble and Frenzy in the Well, which voids one of the questions I intended to ask.” Ignoring Soundwave’s sharp in-vent and Ratchet’s hiss at something on the monitors, Prowl forged on.

 

“But first, you are due some explanations. As you have no doubt determined, your comms and telepathic mods have been isolated from the rest of your processor in order to reduce the threat you pose to the mechs under my command. As for the. . . non-standard method of limiting your movement, Ratchet refused to allow Red Alert to either stasis cuff you mag-lock you to the berth. Partially disabling your motor controls was the compromise they arrived at.”

 

The SIC’s optics narrowed a little and Soundwave couldn’t keep from wondering what side of the argument he had been on. Probably Soundwave’s brain module in a jar on his desk, but the Hostmech really couldn’t fault Prowl for that level of caution when it came to dealing with a mech like himself. It wasn’t false pride to admit that even when he was weakened by the breakage of three symbiotic bonds, Soundwave really _was_ that dangerous.

 

“During our most recent military conflict I was providing long-range support with Bluestreak. Towards the end of hostilities I saw Starscream blow a hole in the mountain. Jazz and Mirage also witnessed this.” As he spoke, Prowl was watching every twitch Soundwave made.

 

The Hostmech couldn’t hide his anger at this reference to Starscream’s betrayal. Had Megatron ordered it? He would have to sort through his memory for impressions of the Warlord’s mind during the brief telepathic contact, and do it soon.

 

“Would I be correct to infer that Starscream was intending to offline you while you were distracted by the deaths of your symbiotes?” Prowl cocked his head to the side, an abnormally expressive gesture for the stoic mech.

 

Oh. Was _that_ it?

 

An extremely high-pitched bleeping came from the monitors stationed to Soundwave’s left as his vision tunnelled and he became utterly still as a surge of fire flooded out from his spark, roaring through his circuitry in search of symbiotic bonds that _should have_ been there. The was the odd sensation of his chest armour being sucked inwards towards his sparkcase before another stab to an energon line sent a welcome dose of coolness to battle the compression and flames surging through him.

 

“Prowl, get out of here NOW before I disable **your** legs and **_throw_** you out.” Ratchet’s voice rose in volume, words effortlessly timed to be heard between the assorted warbles of the spark monitors.

 

Soundwave grabbed for the feeling of ice in his lines and used it to push back the creeping suffocation. He needed to get this over with _now_ to ensure the safety of his surviving symbiotes until he could examine his memory of the battle. Remembering to online his vocaliser again, Soundwave tried to answer.

 

“Pzzrowl: Korreckt.” There was some static, but he was comprehensible. “Szarsscream: Attempted azzasinazion.” A deep invent and Soundwave made a reckless move he couldn’t explain. “Lord Megatron: Azzumed Szoundwave khompromizhd. Szoundwave: In telepatzhik contact with Lord Megatron at the time.”

 

Prowl had been halfway to the Medbay doors when Soundwave started speaking. Now he stood frozen in a half-turn, optics bright and fixed on Soundwave as his doorwings made a slow, vertical up-and-down movement. Irrelevantly, the Hostmech wondered if the awful din of the medical equipment caused the Praxian’s sensor panels pain.

 

“I. . . see.” Prowl said slowly, enunciating the two English syllables clearly and a little distractedly.

 

It was clear to Soundwave, even in his compromised state, that the SIC’s tactical mods had just gone into overdrive. It also looked as if he was fighting with himself over something. No, Soundwave was probably high as a kite on a combination of backlash and whatever medications the Autobot CMO deemed appropriate for his current condition.

 

“GET. OUT.” Ratchet roared, throwing a random metal implement at Prowl before jamming a large hypo full of some unidentified solution into Soundwave.

 

With superb reflexes, Prowl ducked fast enough to receive a glancing blow across the top of his helm that had doubtless set his audios ringing louder than Soundwave’s spark monitor. As Ratchet emptied the contents of the hypo into Soundwave’s lines Prowl seemed to win whatever argument he was having with himself.

 

To the Hostmech’s everlasting shock, Prowl’s next words were in the language of the Clans. He spoke with a heavy Praxian accent, but somehow managed the full formal subglyphs of the Ceremonial Recognition of Loss.

 

“Your loss is recognised and your grief shared. Death diminishes all even as all are one in the Well.” The pause cost him, though. Prowl took a projectile medical tool to the upper arm, earning a massive dent for staying long enough to offer Soundwave the dubious comfort of a lost piece of his culture.

 

This time the tunnel vision was caused by drugs. Sedatives wrapped Soundwave in a welcome blanket of numbness and slowed his processors, smoothing his confusion into uncaring emptiness. The vicious sound of Ratchet’s nonstop swearing punctuated by the monitor beeping faded as the world slipped slowly away from Soundwave.

 

Praxian-accented syllables of a lost language danced after the Hostmech as he plummeted into a deep recharge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping Hurt!Soundwave in character was difficult. Ditto for Interrogator!Prowl. I figure Officer McPrick CAN play nice to if there is a benefit to doing so. Like gaining a source of intel.
> 
> This will be the last 'Sleeping Beauty' chapter end if I have anything to say about it. It's really starting to annoy me.  
> SOUNDWAVE, STOP BEING SUCH A FRAGGING 1950s DISNEY PRINCESS!!!


	5. Jazz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, heads-up that this has had the least editing of all the chapters so far.  
> It was really hard to get into Jazz's head and this bloody thing has fought me nonstop for over a fortnight. If I don't post it now, I never will. I think the honeymoon phase is officially over.  
> *Dumps chapter and flees*

# CHAPTER FIVE:  JAZZ

Jazz was waiting in the corridor outside the Medbay as Prowl fled Ratchet’s wrath. The TIC had ensconced himself against a comfortable section of corridor just wall far enough from the Medbay doors so he wouldn’t become collateral damage if Ratchet was pursuing his target further than the last medberth.

 

He’d been juggling his favourite daggers while waiting for a call to provide backup. Instead of pinging him on the emergency commline Prowl emerged far earlier than planned, sporting a fresh dent and some gouges along the top of his helm. Concern for Prowl combined with relief that he wasn’t going to be asked to brave The Hatchet or his freaky patient, giving way to curiosity as to why the questioning had gone so quickly.

 

“Yah’re still in one piece!” He greeted Prowl brightly, deftly plucking his daggers from the air and returning them to subspace. “That was fast. Did ya get what ya needed already?”

 

Prowl didn’t even slow as he stalked past Jazz, knowing the silver mech was perfectly capable of keeping up with his pace, despite his smaller build. The Saboteur fell in beside the irate Praxian as he swept by. When Soundwave and his cassettes had been moved into the main Medbay for the low-key interrogation Red Alert had insisted that the area immediately surrounding Medbay be placed under a high-level security lockdown and that Prowl take some backup with him.

 

The lockdown was a sensible precaution, backed by Optimus. Soundwave was a dangerous and unpredictable mech; they had no real idea of his capabilities. Even Ratchet wasn’t 100% certain that the Hostmech wouldn’t be able to undo his work and regain access to his telepathic mods and motor functions. He hadn’t seen or worked on a Hostmech system since completing medical training. Frustratingly, Soundwave was like Jazz in that his frame has some rather unusual design elements that weren’t standard for his frametype.

 

Prowl had flat-out rejected the order to have visible guards in the Medbay while he questioned Soundwave, rightly pointing out that any visible threat to either himself or the cassettes would make the Decepticon defensive and unwilling to co-operate. When pushed to compromise, he had allowed backup on the condition that whoever was assigned would remain outside the Medbay until he commed. Optimus nominated Jazz mere astroklicks before the TIC could volunteer.

 

Naturally, Ironhide protested.

 

Prime had quashed Ironhide, firmly reminding the cannon-loving mech that in the event their captives tried to escape Optimus wanted someone who could disable them without vaporising half the Ark in the process. They were still a little tight on habitable living space and any reduction in what was available would be extremely detrimental for morale. Hence Jazz’s presence outside the Medbay. His carefully maintained public persona was so well-crafted even those who had known him the longest often forgot the lethal nature of the monster lurking underneath it.

 

“I got enough for us to go on for now.” Prowl’s doorwings were doing an interesting little repetitive jerk-and-shiver thing Jazz hadn’t seen before, inviting a touch that would probably earn him a fist to the faceplates.  “When Ratchet deems Soundwave stable enough for an extended period of time online he will need to be questioned further.”

 

Jazz could see the struggle between Prowl and his mods, the Praxian desperately fighting to retain some control over his reactions. The situation created by the three Decepticons in the Ark Medbay gave the Battle Computer unprecedented influence at a time where it should have been easy to override. If the Saboteur was going to explain it to humans, he’d say his friend was like Bruce Banner, trying desperately not to ‘Prick Out’.

 

“Ah thought puttn’ them together stabilised th’ funky spark readings Hatchet was gettin’.” Jazz asked, puzzled. The total sum of all his experience with Hostmecha was from being on the opposite side of the battlefield from Soundwave. Unlike Ratchet and Prowl, the silver mech had never even met a Hostmech or Cassette face-to-face outside a combat situation.

 

The pair of officers turned onto the main corridor without slowing down. Since they were still within the area under temporary lockdown for Soundwave’s questioning they had no need to worry about accidentally bowling someone down. Prowl took full advantage of this, moving so fast that Jazz was forced to jog to keep up.

 

So _not_ cool. Even if there was nobody around to see, Red Alert was still on the cameras for this section. A subsection of Jazz’s processor automatically began plotting revenge on Prowl. He squashed it immediately. It wasn’t Prowl’s fault and Red wouldn’t tell anyone what he saw.

 

“Not entirely. It appears the situation is more complicated than either Ratchet or I had anticipated.” Prowl frowned at the blast doors separating the secured area from the rest of the Ark. His doorwings flexed and locked into a high, dominant carriage; clear sign of the Tac-Net and Battle Computer having won the internal battle. “For now, a change of subject is in order.”

 

Jazz nodded to indicate his compliance, punching in the code that would get them past the locked doors and back into the populated part of the ship. Having to do so was annoying, but Red Alert’s paranoia was understandable in this situation. As soon as the Decepticons were moved back into the private Medbay unit this area of the ship would return to something approaching normal.

 

“Yah really gotta work on that sense of humour, Prowl. If that was a joke it was awful, even by _your_ standards.” Jazz said clearly as they passed through the open doors. “One more like that and Ahm confiscatin’ all yah Blackadder DVDs”

 

Prowl made a non-committal noise. It was obvious that he hadn’t really paid attention to what Jazz said so the Saboteur let it slide. When the Tactical Mods took over they really killed Prowl’s already insignificant ability to engage in small-talk.

 

A security camera situated high on one wall watched silently as the blast doors whooshed closed behind the pair officers. The locks clicked audibly back into place as Prowl moved off at a slightly more sedate pace with Jazz strolling along beside him, heading inexorably towards the area assigned for the Command Staff’s office use. They moved through the Ark in a bubble of unnerving silence. It was the first time Jazz could ever recall walking these corridors and not being acknowledged by those he passed. Soundwave’s presence must be freaking everyone out far more than he’d anticipated.

 

Jazz stole a sidelong look at the black-and-white mech beside him, reading in expression and posture information that couldn’t be taken from the other mech’s closely-held EM field. The sorry excuse for questioning the Decepticon TIC hadn’t taken anywhere near long enough to have been useful. Combined with the way everything about Prowl was screaming ‘Bad News’ it explained why everyone had started moving out of their way as if they were infected with Cosmic Rust.

 

The reaction disturbed Jazz in a way it never had before.

 

Prowl cycled air through his vents, the soft puff of air which reached Jazz carried far more radiant heat that it should have. Another quick glace sideways and a reassuring smile at a quietly terrified-looking Bluestreak who jumped out of their way confirmed that the Battle Computer was working furiously, sucking up so much of Prowl’s attention that casual social cues were relegated to the bottom of the SIC’s priority trees.

 

The glaring signs of a fresh encounter with an Angry Hatchet on Prowl’s plating declared that the situation in Medbay was extremely precarious in ways that even the most oblivious ‘bots could read. Jazz cycled his vents softly, mentally cursing Prowl’s tactical mods to the Pit and back. That Prowl was now in full ‘Prick Mode’ (as the human soldiers called it) made things appear worse than they needed to be.

 

As they reached the ‘Office Corridor’ Jazz made a mental note to suggest a full disclosure meeting with Q&A time afterwards for the crew. From the looks being sent their way it was definitely a priority to head off the rumour mill before it got _too_ carried away on the admittedly fertile subject of their captive Telepath.

 

Prime’s office door opened before Prowl could ping for entrance. Obviously Red Alert had been keeping track of their progress through the Ark and let the gathered mechs know that they’d arrived. They slipped inside quickly, the door snapping shut with the tell-tale sound of locks activating.

 

Jazz suppressed a snort at Red Alert’s paranoia. The only Decepticons likely to spy on them were either dead or in the Ark Medbay, and every Autobot currently on the Ark knew that attempting to snoop on a meeting like this would earn them an extremely . . . _creative_ punishment.

 

Not even Mudflap and Skids were stupid enough to risk eavesdropping today.

 

With Ratchet down in Medbay dealing with his patients, there were only five mechs physically present. Besides Jazz and Prowl, there were Optimus, Ironhide and Mirage. Red Alert was listening in via commlink, his disembodied voice floating out of the Prime’s Teletraan console as he interjected the odd question. Ratchet was patched in as well, but his focus was on stabilising the dangerously erratic sparks of Soundwave and his surviving cassettes instead of the conversation in Prime’s office.

.

One warframe, one Towers noble, one Praxian Enforcer, a Minibot and Prime all crammed into said Prime’s modestly-sized office. Jazz was extremely grateful that enclosed spaces didn’t give him the screaming heebie-jeebies. Anyone with even a touch of claustrophobia would probably lose their minds within a few minutes. Tagging the concept of phobia exploitation for use in future interrogations, the TIC pushed the line of thought aside and waved a cheerful greeting to the waiting mechs, settling himself comfortably on the end of Prime’s desk for the discussion.

 

Nearly two hours later, the Saboteur thought he just might snap and messily disassemble everyone present (Except Prowl, of course. With Prowl he’d _tidily_ remove those slagging pit-spawned processor mods) if they didn’t finish up so he could get _out_ of here.

 

Most of the first hour had had been taken up by reassuring Red Alert, who was worried that Soundwave had somehow telepathically hacked Ratchet and the tool-throwing had been an assassination attempt. He had assumed this because Prowl had been able to mostly avoid the first wrench, conflicting with Ratchet’s near-perfect record of headshots with his favourite blunt object. It took a distracted rant from the Medic in question and a statistical analysis from Prowl’s Tac-Net to lay Red’s fears to rest.

 

Then it was Ironhide who needed to be placated while Jazz turned his irritated twitches into bored fidgeting.

 

Even the cannon-happy weapons specialist could see that Soundwave’s injuries weren’t life-threatening. He had taken it as a personal insult that the Decepticons hadn’t simply been tossed into a cell as soon as the worst damage was patched up.  While Ironhide acknowledged that their potential value as hostages too high for Ratchet to do anything other than try to keep the trio alive, it meant that the majority of wounds taken during the Decepticon encounter in the mountains remained unrepaired. While Wheeljack was doing his best, it was painfully obvious to everyone that even though he had some training; ‘Jack was _not_ a proper Medic.

 

Ironhide was furious that their CMO was prioritising enemy mechs over damaged Autobots and spent a great deal of time making sure everyone present understood _just_ how annoyed he was. Optimus let him go on, vorns of experience and the massive social upgrades that came with being a Prime telling him that ‘Hide needed to get this slag out of his vents before he’d be able to settle down enough to hash out what they were going to do about their unwelcome guests. It provided an opening for others to express their own misgivings about the situation as well, so it wasn’t a total waste of time.

 

Except that it went on for _far_ too long.

 

Just as Jazz was beginning to contemplate ‘accidentally’ removing Ironhide’s vocaliser unit next time they sparred, Optimus shut the black-plated mech’s tirade down and turned to Prowl.

 

The Ops Mech heaved an internal sigh of relief. It was time to get this show on the road so he could get out of here and grab a cube in the Rec Room to silence the insistent pings his fuel tank was sending him every few breems. Since he had a decent –if unorthodox- education in Cybertronian anatomy, Jazz had been assisting Wheeljack with repairs and hadn’t had a chance to rest or fuel properly since returning to the Ark.

 

“Prowl, what did you learn from Soundwave?” Optimus asked, shifting the focus of the room to the Second in Command.

 

“Regretfully, I was not able to learn much.” Prowl made a little motion of regret. “However what I _was_ able to discover may be of use in determining our immediate course of action regarding the Decepticons.”

 

“Send bits back to Megatron in pretty little giftboxes?” Ironhide muttered, intending to be overheard. Mirage’s field and armour flexed in a distinctly Towers gesture of agree/endorse while Jazz let a grin cross his faceplates at the idea, Ironhide smirking as he saw it.

 

“Easy, Ironhide.” Optimus said quellingly, probably fed up with the mech’s bloodthirsty nature. “Please continue, Prowl.”

 

Prowl nodded acquiescence, the overhead lighting catching unattractively on the fresh scrapes Ratchet’s wrench had left in the white pain of his helm. Jazz wondered briefly if the Tactician had been using the brief distraction to price up bulk orders of giftboxes. Primus only knew how many processor-aches the Hostmech and his cassettes had caused the Tactician throughout the course of the war.

 

“Firstly, we have definitive confirmation that Buzzsaw has been offlined.” The Praxian settled effortlessly into his ‘Report Delivery’ mode; feet slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back until he forgot himself and started gesturing with them. “Soundwave gave verbal confirmation of the cassette’s status during a brief period of lucidity. It is corroborated by the trouble Ratchet is having in stabilising the sparkpulses of the remaining symbiotic ‘family’, as the difficulty in doing so increases exponentially with the number of bonds broken.”

 

The rather cramped state of the office put a definite crimp in the Praxian’s ability to talk with his hands and wings, so he ended up keeping his hands behind his back. Jazz was free to drink in his voice without the distraction of movements that an endlessly optimistic corner of his Polyhexian processors couldn’t help but try to interpret in ways that were definitely _not_ work-related. Jazz rather missed the expressive movements of Prowl’s hands, it would have been a nice distraction from his growing desire to curl up on Optimus’ desk and catch a quick nap.

 

“How do we know that he did not simply lie in order to give himself a spy on the outside?” Mirage asked quietly. “Little is known about Hostmecha outside of their Clans. For all we know it would be easy for Soundwave to fake the effects of a third death if two had already occurred within a short timeframe.”

 

“I spent. . . some time with the Host Clans before the fall of Praxus.” Prowl’s voice, already effectively neutral under the heavy influence of his Tactical mods, became noticeably frosty at the mention of Praxus. “All Hostmecha will place the welling of a cassette above their own, _especially_ if it is a cassette they share a symbiotic link with. Soundwave’s own core coding would force him to tell us the truth of Buzzsaw’s condition in order to ensure that his surviving cassettes receive proper care.”

 

At this, Optimus’ EM field washing out against his control to fill the room with the peculiar, iodine-flavoured incandescence of a Matrix-backed bolstering of Prowl’s words. Jazz froze as it washed over him, optics going wide with shock behind his visor. The Saboteur didn’t like it when the semi-sentient artefact did things like this; it increased his distrust of the thing.

 

Armour plates twitched and shivered throughout the packed office as if shaking off drops of acid rain.

 

“Are we likely to get any evidence besides _Soundwave’s_ word?” Ironhide asked sceptically, raising an optical ridge at the Praxian.

 

The battle-scarred veteran was just as disinclined to trust the Matrix as Jazz but he was more obvious in expressing it. Ironhide tended to confront problems the same way, on battlefield or off. Face-on with cannons blazing.

 

“I have reason to believe that Sunstreaker got a face-full of aerial cassette instead of one of the human’s military drones.” Prowl said, his mods allowing him to ignore the influence of the Matrix more easily than the others. “It certainly tallies with the NEST report about human-controlled UAV activity in the area during the Decepticon encounter.”

 

Jazz’s visor flashed and he shuddered violently, armour rattling against the surface of Optimus’ desk. His reaction wasn’t caused by the idea of a face-full of another mech’s innards so much as vivid mental images of Sunstreaker’s reaction to finding out exactly _what_ had caused the damage to his faceplates.

 

“Let’s. . . _not_ tell Sunny what actually hit him, yeah?” Jazz said uneasily.

 

Mirage looked like he wanted to purge his tanks, blue and white plating clamped to his frame while his field pulled in so tight Jazz wondered if the spy was about to activate his mods and vanish. Ironhide was made of sterner stuff, he simply twitched and made a face.

 

“His reaction would likely be. . . _less_ than pleasant.” Prowl observed. “I would advise that the information not leave this room.”

 

“Ah knew Ah’d regret th’ day Epps discovered ya understan’ understatement.” Jazz groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Yah’re _never_ gonna learn how t’ tell a proper joke now. Not with him validatin’ ya twisted sense of humour.”

 

“I told you, you were _never_ going to win that one.” Ironhide rumbled, leaping on the change of subject as a welcome distraction from unpleasant mental images.

 

Behind him, Jazz heard Optimus cycle a deep draught of air through his vents. This kind of banter was the norm for the command staff, a coping mechanism developed over the long vorns of war. However, there were times like this when it threatened to derail the subject of the meeting altogether. The TIC had a good idea that by now the Prime probably regretted his initial encouragement of their behaviour. It was too late to change it now; the Boss Bot would just have to deal with it.

 

Another irritating ping came from Jazz’s fueltank and he leaned back to check the chronometer on Primes’ desk. Yeah, he had one on his HUD but this was more fun. It allowed him to stretch his cramped cables slightly and tease the mechs present with glimpses of protoform and tensor cables exposed by the edges of his flexible armour. Pity that Prowl wasn’t watching. Oh well, he’d live.

 

The number displayed for Local Time on Optimus’ unnecessarily complex desktop chronometer was shocking. Had they really been here _that_ long?! With the time already wasted on letting Ironhide vent earlier this threatened to drag on well into the evening. The trio of unexpected mechs in Medbay were something that none of them really wanted to deal with right now. They were Decepticons, ideological enemies who had brought about the ruin of everything any of them had ever known.

 

They were also injured, bereft and hurting. These were states for other mecha that, in the past, hadn’t really mattered to Jazz unless he was causing them or using their prior existence to manipulate someone.

 

Pit, he was going soft. Optimus really _had_ been a bad influence on him!

 

“It’s gettin’ late guys, an Ahm getting a bit empty.” The saboteur cut into the banter since Optimus obviously wasn’t going to. “Prowl, d’ya think there’s any chance of us usin’ Sounders to get somethin’ outta Megatron? Or should we wait an’ see what info we can get outta him when the Hatchet has him back on his feet.”

 

Privately, Jazz was starting to wish he’d left the Hostmech where he’d found him.

 

“I am uncertain.” The SIC’s words had the attention of every mech in the room and the pair patched in on the Ark comms. Jazz sat forward, wanting to eliminate even the slightest possibility of missing the next words to leave Prowl’s vocaliser.

 

“Soundwave stated that he was in telepathic contact with Megatron just before Starscream fired on him.” Prowl’s doorwings made their first truly subconscious motion the Tac-Net had kicked into high gear. The sight sent a little rush of joy scorching through Jazz. “Megatron apparently believes that Soundwave has been compromised.”

 

The entire room was stunned into silence. Jazz fancied he even heard Ratchet drop a wrench over the commlink to Medbay. The grating sound of Ironhide’s processors labouring under the strain of this revelation was _definitely_ audible, or was that just his denta grinding together?

 

The idea of being in direct mental contact with the Decepticon Leader for _any_ reason made Jazz wish that he could remove every single individual neural relay from his frame and scrub them with acid to purge himself of the memory. It was a truly _disgusting_ concept.

 

There were some things that not even Jazz could contemplate doing. Go figure.

 

“Unfortunately for us, Soundwave was not able to be clear as to the precise way in which Megatron thinks he has been compromised.” The regret in Prowl’s voice was definitely a product of the Tac-Net.

 

“This. . . is a matter that will require much thought and more information before we can decide upon a course of action.” Optimus said slowly, dropping his words carefully into the stunned silence. “Until Soundwave can clarify his statement, we can make no firm decisions. In the meantime we will treat both Soundwave and the cassettes Ravage and Laserbeak as hostages and prisoners of war. I will inform Megatron of that fact, withholding from him the knowledge that Soundwave has been able to communicate with us.”

 

Prime was _finally_ learning how to be sneaky. The warm glow of almost parental pride that momentarily filled Jazz abruptly sputtered out at Optimus’ next words.

 

“Jazz, Prowl; As it was you two brought him in, I am placing Soundwave in your custody” Oh _slag_ no! Jazz let his field flare out in wordless protest, Prime rolling right on overtop of any verbal objection he could make. “Jazz, you are the only mech we have who can match Soundwave for sheer sneakiness and Prowl has the most knowledge of Hostmecha and their Clan culture of all Autobots currently on Earth.”

 

_Slagging glitch-brained, rational blaste-_ Jazz swore furiously to himself as Optimus continued.

 

“You both have capable mecha under you that you can delegate to. They can get a little more hands-on experience while you take care of this situation.”

 

He was really fragged now. There was no way to argue with _that_ in front of Mirage. Jazz knew his operatives and how to handle them. Forcing down his irritation and _another_ ping from his tanks, Jazz rolled his shoulders in a human-style shrug.

 

“Makes sense, Boss Bot.” Jazz said as he felt his mouthplates pull into an unhappy expression. “Ahm not happy about bein’ that close to Ravage, though. Kitty’s got a _mean_ bite.”

 

“Stay out of range and you’ll be fine.” Ironhide mocked, looking relieved that he hadn’t been saddled with ‘Con-Babysitting duty. “I can get you a catnip mouse for him if you’re _that_ worried.”

 

“Enough.” Optimus placed a large hand on Jazz’s shoulder as the silver mech twitched in Ironhide’s direction, armour plates clicking ominously. “It has been a long day and we are all feeling the effects. We shall discuss the situation at a later date when we are more rested and have acquired more information.”

 

It wasn’t the best dismissal Jazz had heard, but everyone present took it as such and began filing out the moment Red Alert released the locks on the door. Prowl waited for others to leave first, and the saboteur felt his spark drop uncomfortably as he looked at his friend.

 

The black-and-white Praxian was still submerged within the flow of his mods, but there was a strange light in his optics which made Jazz wonder if he’d felt the same thing, too.


End file.
